


Let Us Two (A Burden Try)

by seekrest



Series: Twelve Days of Terror: A Whumptober Collection [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Dark Peter Parker, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mild Language, Not Canon Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 09:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest
Summary: Tony lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, glancing back to Steve only to see the haunted look in eyes.“Who is this?” Tony asks, seeing Steve’s features harden.“We don’t know. This is the fourth video we’ve come across. By the time police arrive, there’s no evidence. Whatever he is, he’s quick.”“Tony,” Steve warns as Tony stands up, going to walk towards the display that FRIDAY was already calculating, “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Who we’re dealing with. We need to be smart about this.”Tony listened but pressed forward, nodding back to the display in front of him.“Search everywhere, Fri. Let’s catch him before he strikes again.”





	Let Us Two (A Burden Try)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Isolation 
> 
> This was originally a longfic idea that I couldn’t bear to keep pushing off and then realized, whumptober is the “best” time to do this.
> 
> If there is ever a “best” time for a fic like this.

“Tony.”

Tony’s head snapped up, glancing back over the couch. Steve’s shoulders were tense, arms folded in a way that immediately puts Tony on edge.

“Something up?”

Steve shakes his head, Tony trying and failing to place the look on his face.

“There’s something you need to see.”

Tony braces himself as Steve places the StarkPad in front of him. He looks up at him curiously, seeing the darkness in Steve’s eyes - a torment in them that Tony can’t make sense of.

The footage is shaky, the grainy video making Tony squint. But then he sees it, a blur in the darkness - moving so quickly that Tony can barely catch what’s happening.

But when he does see its brutal, violent, messy - the hearing the sickening crunch of legs, bones and necks. Tony stares, the screams cut short so swiftly that he can barely keep track of where the blur is going next.

But then it stops, just enough for Tony to get a glimpse of the figure - a man, dressed in what Tony can only guess are a black hoodie and sweatpants. But before he can lean in closer, the man leaps towards the camera, Tony involuntarily leaning back as the man’s head tilts, the dark goggles on his face reflecting back on him. It’s silent for a moment, Tony watching as if the man in front of him considers his reflection - only for his hand crashes towards the camera and for the feed to go black.

Tony lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, glancing back to Steve only to see the haunted look in eyes. 

“Who is this?” Tony asks, seeing Steve’s features harden. 

“We don’t know. This is the fourth video we’ve come across. By the time police arrive, there’s no evidence. Whatever he is, he’s quick.”

“Quicker than FRIDAY? Fri, give me coordinates for reports about this… blur thing.”

“Tony,” Steve warns as Tony stands up, going to walk towards the display that FRIDAY was already calculating, “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. _ Who _ we’re dealing with. We need to be smart about this.”

“Smart is knowing your opponent and right now we got shit on him, am I right?”

Steve’s silence is answer enough for Tony, nodding back to FRIDAY’s display.

“Search everywhere, Fri. Let’s catch him before he strikes again.”

* * *

He swings, listening for the panicked footsteps as they run away for him - smiling under the mask.

They always ran, it never made sense.

They should know they’ll never be fast enough to run away from him.

He lunges forward, swinging once, twice before landing right behind the other man - out of breath, scrambling as he realized he was trapped.

The man turns to face him, looking terrified - seeing his own reflection in the mask’s goggles. It reminded him of the camera from a few nights ago, making him realize how little he saw of himself - no mirrors in his hideout.

It was better that way, he thinks. He had a mission, it didn’t matter who saw him - he had no one to care about how he looked anyway.

He was alone. 

“I’m.. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please. Please don’t hurt me.” The shaking man’s cries bring him out of his thoughts, gingerly taking a step forward as his smile turns to a frown.

“Sorry won’t bring that family back. Sorry doesn’t make it okay.”

Without a second glance, his hands are wrapped around the man’s neck - pressing tight, squeezing just enough to make him gasp. 

He can hear the man’s rapid heartbeat, can feel it under his fingers.

He usually toys with them, lets them beg - knowing the outcome will be the same.

But then the man in his arms had murdered a family, shot in alleyway that reminded him too much of another cold October night, another family shattered forever.

Another child that lost their home.

Before the man can say anything, he snaps his neck - the crack of it reverberating through the alleyway before he lets go, letting his body fall to the floor.

He leans down, glancing at him curiously - listening for the heartbeat he knows is gone.

He doesn’t leave them alive. He never will. 

“Sorry doesn’t mean you’re forgiven.” He whispers, glancing down the alleyway before sending off a web - swinging away.

* * *

Tony watches the footage, noting the time as he walks towards the balcony. He can hear Steve behind him, his voice loud.

“Tony, we need a plan.”

“I have a plan. Stop this maniac from murdering anyone else.”

“Tony—“

“Look, I’m not saying these assholes don’t have what’s coming to them. I see the police reports, guy’s doing us a favor. But we need to be checked Cap, can’t have some vigilante roaming the streets. You already know Ross is on our asses about everything.”

Tony watches as Steve seems to consider it, Tony turning away.

“Wait—“

“Steve, FRIDAY’s got a lock on him. If we want to put a handle on this thing then—“

“Wait, Tony—“

“There’s no waiting here, Steve.” Tony’s voice raises, pressing the nanites on his chest as the suit envelops him. “Either we go now or we wait till we find his next victim. And whose to say he’ll be so benevolent next time, moving on to someone else? Someone who doesn’t deserve it?”

Steve just nods, taking a step forward. 

“I’m coming with you.”

* * *

He lands softly the warehouse's rooftop, glancing out over the bay. There was never anyone here - no one was ever around - but he still looked, his senses ringing slightly at some unforeseen danger.

But then, Peter thinks - he’d been in danger since Ben and May had been murdered.

He slips quietly into the warehouse through the cracked window, eyes adjusting to the darkness as he listens - hearing no one before ripping off his mask. Peter runs a hand through his hair, only to sigh in disgust when he remembers the blood still caked on his gloved fingers.

“Great. Now this shit will be all over the bed.” He mutters to himself, hearing his own voice echo. Peter walks towards his little corner, a home in everything but in name - in warmth, in love. Sleeping here wasn't the most comfortable and with the cool winds of fall slowly changing to winter, Peter knows he needs to start scouting out another place.

But it’s also the longest place he’s ever allowed himself to stay, the cheap sleeping bag he found in a dumpster a few months back still holding on strong - the backpack he lifted from that asshole who was robbing a bank still kept together, holding all of Peter’s worldly possessions. 

He sinks down onto the sleeping bag, feeling older than his sixteen years as he props his legs up. It was a bad day, seeing that family get murdered - cursing himself for being too late to stop them.

The blood on his hands isn’t from that murderer but from the panicked father, gasping in fear and in pain as Peter had pressed down on the open wound. 

He hated it, hated that he was too late - hated that he always seemed to be a minute too late. But Peter tries and console himself with the knowledge that the man who’d killed that man and his wife hadn’t been able to shoot the little girl, that the man who murdered her parents was no longer breathing.

Peter’s hands shake slightly, the chill down his spine at what he’d done. It never got easier, never felt simple - and in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt a small sliver of shame at what Ben and May would think of what he was doing now - of what he had become.

Peter involuntarily shudders, thinking back to the happy memories he had with them. Of late night Thai dinners, Ben sneaking him into R-rated movies, May yelling at him later when Peter would get scared - only to cuddle with him on the couch with ice cream and another movie, making Peter think that she didn’t really mind it at all.

Peter lets himself think of the Stark Expo, a memory only colored now by his years and years of being alone. In his darkest moments, when the pain of being alone was so overwhelming - Peter almost wished that his life had ended that night, that Iron Man hadn’t saved him - if only so that he didn’t have to face the life he did now, without Ben or May to be with him. 

But he swallows that down, swallows all the memories - good and bad and everything in between - gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes.

He didn’t have Ben or May anymore. 

He didn’t have anyone.

Peter was tired of it but it didn’t change anything.

Peter was alone. 

* * *

Tony and Steve arrive to the warehouse by the docks, the one that FRIDAY had confirmed where the man had gone. 

They nod to each other, knowing nothing except for how dangerous he was - Tony recognizing that Steve was right.

They should have a better plan, should be prepared for anything - attack with more than just a whim. But Tony also knew that he couldn’t let this guy keep doing what he was doing - whether the ones he killed deserved it or not - or risk everything that he and Steve had so precariously built. 

He sees Steve slide in through the double doors, Tony flying around - FRIDAY registering a heat signature in the corner. The figure is curiously silent, sitting down - though from what Tony had gathered from his review of the footage - was hardly ever surprised by the people he attacked. Tony could only guess what kind of enhancements the guy had but strength, speed and agility combined with a vicious knack for knowing where punches were coming from made his stillness suspicious. 

“Don’t move.” Tony can hear Steve’s voice ring out in the warehouse, seeing the man’s head up from the outside. The mask is on, something Tony considers to be curious since by all accounts - he’s alone. 

Almost as if he was expecting them. 

But then he leaps to his feet, Steven immediately on the defensive.

“I said--”

But Steve doesn’t get the chance to speak, the man rushing forward - Tony watching for a split-second as they begin to fight.

It’s like a sick dance, seeing Steve actually meeting his match in a fight - something Tony had never considered possible before. The man in black is quick, agile and small - smaller than Tony remembers from the footage. 

But any other thoughts are thrown out of his mind when he sees him throw Steven in a headlock, Tony’s heart racing at the immediate and pressing danger.

“Stand down, _ now. _” Tony yells, bursting through the window - the man’s mask snapping up to face him, in defiance or surprise - Tony doesn’t know. 

“What do you want from me?” The voice is haggard, like it’d been crying - Tony’s mind focused on the chokehold that Steve is in rather than putting anything else together. 

“For you to lose the death grip on Spangles for starters.” The man seems to consider this before loosening his grip, flipping away from the both of them as Steve gasps and Tony - pulsar aimed forward - walks toward him. 

“Second for you to explain why the hell you’re on a one-man murder mission.”

The man tenses, Tony seeing his hands ball up into fists. 

“It’s not murder if they deserve it.”

“Deserve it or not, it’s still wrong, son.” Steve says, Tony wincing at how pained it sounded. 

“Don’t call me that.” The man hisses, Tony pausing for a second. There was something… off about his voice, something that pressed in the back of Tony’s mind. But whatever short reprieve they’d been given was gone, the man leaping to the ceiling before swinging towards them. 

Tony moves, barely - just in time to miss a kick that nearly catches him, watching as Steve tries and fails to grab him. 

It becomes another sick dance, a tango between the three of them. For every shot that Tony sends, for every movement Steve advances - the man in black is that much quicker, that much stronger - yet there’s something in the back of Tony’s mind that is screaming at him, telling him to see - telling him that this fight is different. 

It isn’t until he sees Steve exposed, the man hitting him from behind just hard enough to take him out by the knees but not to decapitate him completely that he realizes - whoever he is, for whatever reason - he’s pulling his punches. 

He turns to Tony for a moment, ready to pounce even as he sees something in the twitch of his head before Steve lunges for him - the man reacting a split-second before Steve can grab him, something changing in his demeanor. 

He goes for his neck again, a movement that reminds Tony too much of the footage he’d seen and before he can think twice - Tony shoots. 

The man dodges, turning back to Tony almost in betrayal - something that Tony can’t make sense of - but before the man can move again, Tony shoots again - square in the chest, causing him fall back from Steve and towards the ground. 

There’s something ringing in the back of Tony’s head, wondering why he hadn’t moved in time when he clearly had some kind of sense of what was coming to him. But before Tony can ask, the wheezes coming from the man and the blood seeping on the ground beneath him brings Tony out of it - hearing Steve’s voice.

“Tony, we were going to bring him in--”

“Did you want him to kill you, Rogers? Cause he was ten seconds away from doing that.” Tony argues back, going forward anyway as Steve presses down on the wound. 

FRIDAY makes the calculation before he can ask, telling Tony that the shot was fatal - something Tony had aimed for, even if now - looking at the mask in front of him, he wondered if he made the right call.

The man wheezes for a second, his whole body shaking before Tony hears words that throw him - words that he’ll spend years thinking of. 

“Thank you.” The man whispers before his body shudders, then stops - Steve looking down in horror.

“FRIDAY?”

The knowledge that there was no heartbeat was confirmation enough, but Tony still felt conflicted - a remorse he couldn’t make sense of, not when whoever he was had been seconds away from snapping Steve’s neck. When the man on the floor had been a murderer. 

But then Tony kneels down, slips the mask off and his stomach drops, hearing the shock in Steve’s voice. 

“Tony…”

“Oh my God.” Tony answers, his eyes widening as he sits back. 

Cause there in front of him wasn’t a man, wasn’t anything that Tony could’ve possibly expected when he considered who could have been on a murder spree in New York. 

“It’s just a kid. Tony, he’s--he’s a _ kid _.” 

Tony says nothing, his mind going elsewhere - feeling the panic and shame and horror crawl over him. 

Tony had made several mistakes in his life, huge gaping wells of regret that in his darkest moments - he allowed himself to wallow in. 

But in those moments, when it seemed too dark for him to ever come out - he thought of the good things he’d done. 

Proposing to Pepper. 

Promoting Happy.

Saving that family in Afghanistan. 

Saving that kid at his doomed Expo. 

Keeping the team together, a family all but in name. 

But seeing the greyed-tint skin of the kid in front of him, a murderer and a child all in one - Tony wondered if there was any good memory that could outweigh the mistake he’d made tonight. 


End file.
